


earth adventures

by wardui



Category: Star vs. The Forces Of Evil
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, F/M, Gen, Light Angst, Nightmares, POV Second Person, Panic Attacks, Role Swap, Slow Burn, Slow Updates, at least i tried to angst, b/c marco is an anxious child, human star butterfly, ill update the tags as i go, im sorry, prince marco diaz
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2018-09-06 09:47:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8745514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wardui/pseuds/wardui
Summary: Her soothing hands run through your hair as you try to calm down. The trembling of your hands slows but does not stop. she whispers reassurances into your ears and you want to believe her, but you can't.You grip the wand tightly against your chest.-Prince Marco Diaz tries to get through life.





	1. first day

**Author's Note:**

> warnings - there's some light stuff about Marco having some nightmares and freaking out because he is an anxious child, but nothing severe at all. just wanted to warn some.  
> please enjoy!! :D

Your name is Marco Ubaldo Diaz. You are a prince. The prince of España.

The crown sits heavy on your head like the lies that weigh your tongue.

-

Today is a special day. Today is your fourteen birthday. The queen and king wake you up with big, bright smiles on their faces. It hurts your eyes but you manage to weakly smile at them. The flash of a knife dances behind your eyelids and you force it to the back of your mind. It is a special day. You have to get ready.

-

The nobles’ murmurs slip through the curtains you are standing behind, waiting to be summoned. They whisper things like _not ready, not responsible enough, too young_. You have to stop the gritting of your teeth.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

They know little of the sights you have seen, the responsibilities you have shouldered, _the nightmares you have-_

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

The murmuring quiets down and a strong, sure voice cuts through the darkness clouding your mind for a moment. “Prince Marco Ubaldo Diaz.”

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

You push aside the curtains and greet the crowd with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You see a distrust swimming behind theirs.

-

The queen presses the wand into your open palms and you curl your fingers around it. She steps to the side and you straighten from your bowed position. The wand’s millennia old power surges through your veins and your suddenly unsure if you can handle this. The king’s hand falls on your left shoulder, bringing you back to reality and the queen’s lands on your right. The nobles’ murmurs fill the air once again.

You grip the wand tighter. It is your responsibility now.

-

At night, the darkness is left free to pervade your mind. You are 10 with a knife at your throat. Eleven with your lungs screaming for air, your face blue, limbs flailing and strong hands with an iron grip squeezing your neck. Twelve, sitting in the hospital bed with your mother stroking your aching head and the doctor muttering over the clipboard about poison and something being oh so horribly wrong. Thirteen with the blood of your assailant coating your body, sinking through your favored red t-shirt (you’ve never worn red since that day, barely can look at it), staining your bones and the glimmer of innocence in your eyes. Fourteen with sweat running down your back and night terrors flashing behind your eyes.

You do not scream.

(You’ve forgotten how.)

-

The cold of the stone floor seeps through the thick skin of your feet. It acts as a distraction to the tremble in your hands and all the darker thoughts in your mind. You repeat a mantra in hopes of steadying somewhat.

One foot in front of the other.

One foot in front of the other.

One foot in front of the oth-

There’s a quiet sobbing coming from your parents’ room. You sneak a peek into the room and see you’re the back of your mother’s head, her hair bouncing and her body trembling. Your father’s arm is slung around her, trying to act as a comforter. You can hear her mumble like a broken record, “Mi hijo, they want to take mi hijo. Mi hijo, they want to take mi hijo…” You grip the handle of the wand and keep walking.

-

The millennia old tomes drag at the deep bags under your eyes. You need to know them all. You need to protect them. You need to guard your kingdom. The king and queen mutter behind you. You ignore them. You should not have.

-

You are to go to Earth. Your mother’s long loose curls bounce around your body and she encases you in the warmth of her bosom while her tears wet your hair. Your father scoops the both of you from behind and crushes you two into his chest and you can feel the sobs wracking his body. You all grip each other tightly, your parents crying. You do not cry; you need to stay strong. You have a duty to your kingdom.

-

They send you off with a suitcase filled with all the essentials, some currency, and wand in hand. As the carriage rolls away you can see the queen watching you and it from a far with a smile that doesn’t light up her eyes the way the genuine ones do. The king talks to the officials with a drag in his step.

You turn around and sink into the carriage seat. The suitcase bangs against your leg and you hold it in your hands to get it out of the way. When your fingers idly trace the leather of the handle it hits you all at once. You stare at the suitcase and everything it represents. (You want it to burst into flames.) (You do not scream.) (You’ve forgotten how.)

-

The carriage stops outside a strange squarish building with a sign that reads Echo Creek High. As if by some invisible force you are suddenly launched out the carriage onto your butt in front of the building. Some of the earthlings stare in confusion but most just make their way around you or ignore your presence.

As the carriage’s figure retreats the tremble in your hands, in your body becomes stronger. Your body curls into a fetal position and the tears that you’ve held back gush down your face free flowing. The earthlings’ staring burn into your back but you cannot care. You are stuck here, on a planet you barely know, a dimension you’ve never seen, with nothing but what you have on you. You want to scream.

(You’ve forgotten how.)

-

Star Butterfly is her name. She was bounding up the steps to the school when she saw your figure and she couldn’t dare leave anyone sad. She coaxed you out of the human ball you curled yourself into and managed to pry a teary grin out you with badly-told jokes. She is a force of pure naivety and happiness with enough to share for everyone. As you’re led to the ‘principal’s’ office she grips your hand tightly and stage whispers, _we’re going to be the best of_ _friends_. The glimmer of innocence sparkles in her eyes and you know you have to keep it there.

You grip her hand back and smile lightly. You stage whisper, _I sure hope so_.


	2. new mornings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god, i managed to update this in only a week. god is real. don't expect too much however, i think we have some essays coming up in english.  
> so this is in Star's second person POV. i might sprinkle this through out the story or consistently switch between her and Marco's. on an unrelated note, i made myself a new profile picture for the holidays. i'm happy with how it came out.

Your name is Star Butterfly. You are the sole child of Moon and River Butterfly.

You love life.

-

Every morning at 6am you roll of bed and greet the birds. Today, your body wakes you up at 5am, an hour earlier than usual. Your eyes narrow as you peer at the clock. Then a huge smile grows across your face as you practically leap out the bed. Today is special. You do not know why, but today is special.

-

At the dining table, you fiddle with the pink heart stickers plastered on your cheeks. Your father makes pancakes in the kitchen, making a mess of himself, you’re sure, while your mother reviews and writes paperwork with deep setting bags under her eyes concealed by make-up. You want to raise the concern of her overworking herself but you know she won’t appreciate the gesture so you lock the concern away. _Be harmless not helpful_ , she always said.

As you finally get the stickers to the perfect places on your cheeks, your father places the pancakes on the table, shaking it a bit and getting flour over a good portion of it like he did himself. When you drench yours in syrup, you see your mother wrinkle her nose in disgust as she pushes her to the side to focus on her work. She gives an air of exhausted but you don’t say anything as you down your pancakes and pretend not to notice.

-

When you leave for school you make sure to punctuate the action with a _have a great day_ towards your parents. Your father responds earnestly with a clap on the back, a mighty roaring laugh, and a with a _you too, sweetie!_  Your mother responds, not looking up from her paperwork, with a _have a nice day, Star._

You pretend not to notice how your mother probably hasn’t looked up from her paperwork since she got prepared for the day.

-

He’s sitting in fetal position when you see. As you get closer you notice tremors wracking through his body and hear the soft hitching of his breath. Sadness ant his sadness floods through you and you know this can’t stand. You bound up to him, making sure your you radiate joy so maybe your good mood can cheer him up a bit.

When you’re with a yard of his body, he tenses, as if you present a danger. It confuses you, but you don’t let it deter you. You stop right in front of him and lay a hand on his knee.

“Hey,” you whisper, “how are you doing today?”

He doesn’t respond but he removes his face from between his legs to stare at you. You see tears running down his cheeks and a tiredness in his eyes, the same tiredness you see in your mother. Tired from life. Your resolve only grows from it.

You sit next to him from the steps and swing your legs around a bit. “Did you hear about the owl party?”

He doesn’t respond. You continue on anyway. “I heard it was a _hoot._ ”

His gaze shifts from a blank one to unamused. It’s not the exact result you wanted, but it’s better than nothing. You keep telling shitty puns and jokes in hopes the gaze will shift to a slightly happy one.

“Where do pencils go on vacation? _Pennsylvania!_ ”

“What does a clock do when it gets hungry? It goes back _four seconds!_ ”

“Did you hear about the guy whose whole left side was cut off? He’s _all right_ now.”

“Have you ever tried to eat a clock? It’s very _time consuming._ ”

It’s a bit discouraging when he doesn’t respond for a while but you power on. Eventually, his eyes crinkle at the edges in amusement, moving his cute little mole a bit upwards. (You _really_   wantto poke it or pinch his cheeks but again you exercise restraint. You don’t want to make him uncomfortable.) He smiles a shy smile through his (significantly reduced, you note) tears, not the large one you wanted, but you’re happy with it all the same. (It’s still cute.)

After coaxing him off the stairs, affirming that you’re going to be the best of friends (he needs one, you won’t say that but he needs one), and dropping him off at the principal’s office you head to Algebra I.

-

You’re doodling in the margins of your notebook paper while the teacher rambles on about exponents and simplifying equations. You tune her out, focusing on getting the curve of the fairy’s legs _just right_ when a ruler comes smacking down on your desk jerking your concentration and messing up the legs. You frown at the ruined drawing before switching back to a smile and facing the teacher’s stern gaze. The smile turns sheepish and she sighs.

“Star, you have to pay attention. This is very important information and it’s going to show up on the benchmark. You know you must ace that right? To push your grade up?”

A part of you isn’t sorry, insisting that no matter what you do you’re going to inherit the family company, so may as well have fun now but most of you sees the concerned light in her eyes and knows she’s only trying to help you succeed to the best of her ability. Your shoulders slump, a bit ashamed and you open your mouth to respond—

The intercom crackles and you can hear Principal Skeeves voice calling you to his office. “Star Butterfly to the principal’s office, I repeat Star Butterfly to the principal’s office.”

The teacher’s eyes crinkle with amusement as she writes you a pass. “Go find out what you did this time,” she says, clearly deriving some humor out of this.

You take the pass she hands you and mock salute her. “I’ll be sure to return in ship-shape ma’am!” you say and she laughs before she turns back to the rest of the class.

-

Marco Diaz, the boy you met earlier, is apparently a transfer student. He is to live with you at the Butterfly residence and if that isn’t the best news. You scoop him up in a hug when Principal Skeeves tells you and he’s tense, but not as much as he could be, and that’s a victory you’ll take.

As he squirms in your tight grip you make plans to crack him open and fill him with all the warmth and compassion he needs till the dull tiredness in his eyes fades away.

-

While walking back to your math class with Marco in tow, you notice something _a bit_ peculiar. “So Marco,” you start, “what’s with the clothes?”

He tugs at the expensive looking fabric as if he forgot he was wearing it. “Oh yeah...” he mutters. He pulls something out of the satchel suitcase he was carrying and waves it around while mumbling something. Before you can ask what that was for a power surges through the air and red-light swims around Marco. Instead of backing away like most people you know would do, you lean closer, filled with awe. When the light fades and Marco is just standing there, he’s wearing a grey sweatshirt, some navy-blue jeans, and brown converse. The crown that sat on his head is gone and he looks just like some normal boy. However, after seeing that, you know that he isn’t.

He continues walking but before he can get too far you grab his arm and pull him back using your polar bear strength that you’re so fond of. You grip his shoulders, look him the eye and start squeeing excitedly. “Oh. My. God,” you gush, “you can do magic!”

He looks at you a bit confused. “I can,” he says, hands twitching at his sides. “I don’t get why this is such a big deal? Can’t most people with a wand or the ability do magic?”

Now you’re flabbergasted and you wonder more about Marco, an apparently magical boy who just dropped into your life. “Wait,” you say, your hands splayed out in front of you. “Just where are you from that magic is just some _common_ thing?”

“España,” he responds hesitantly, “I’m sure you’ve heard of it?”

“I’m _pretty_ sure Spain doesn’t have magic people.”

His face twists up when you say Spain, as if you’ve puzzled him somehow. “I’ve, ah, never heard someone refer to my kingdom as Spain. I don’t think we’re speaking of the same place.”

“Okay buddy,” you say slinging an arm around him, “there’s only one España I know of, and it’s probably not where you’re coming from. So where do you come from?”

He explains to you how he’s the prince of España, a planet in an apparently different dimension where magic is a thing. As he tells you more about his home his eyes light up in fondness tinged with home sickness. At the end of the explanation, he tells you that he was sent to Earth to ‘study’. You get the feeling he’s holding back on certain details, but that’s okay. He’ll tell you when he’s ready.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: while i was writing the bad puns part a commercial turned on and it contained a shitty pun. (it was the Pennsylvania one) coincidence, coincidence. i also had to search for bad puns.  
> if there are any mistakes, let me know! i probably just passed over them before.  
> next chapter (most likely): new world, new times


	3. new world, new times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry for disappearing like for a month??? first week i was lazy, second handball tournament and tests, third week was texas, and fourth was being stumped on how to make this flow. i probably wont update next week as i have lots of shit due next week and i haven't started most. enjoy and im so so sorry. if there are mistakes i might edit them out later.  
> edit: im sorry about the paragraphing, it just went poof when i put the chapter up?

The Butterfly household is big. Not as big as you’re used to, but bigger than the small homes passed by on the drive here. When the car comes to a safe stop in front of a set of grandiose stairs, Star immediately hops out and starts scaling them. You wait a while after the car stops before you slip out, making sure you say a quiet _thank you_ to the driver before you do. The driver tips his hat in your direction, exposing his bald head and a small gem implanted smack in the middle of it. He responds _no problem_ and you step out he car feeling like you’ve set something in motion. You shove the feeling to the back of your mind to investigate later. It’s not important right now. Star waving frantically at the top of the stairwell is.

-

“This,” Star says while gesturing to a dark room with a large screen and some seats, “is the media or as I call it the movie room. We can watch movies and some other stuff in here.” She turns to look at you in excitement and expecting to see you happy at the prospect of seeing some Earth movies only to see you scanning the room (looking for possible exits, possible hiding places, possible weapons, have to be prepared for danger, _always have to be prepared—_ Her hand lands on her shoulder and she squeezes gently, pulling you out your thoughts. “Hey,” she murmurs, getting quieter and stepping closer, “you okay?” You finally turn your gaze to her and you can see the concern flitting around in her eyes. You take in a deep breath through your nose before breathing out and smiling gently.

“Yeah,” you say. “Just fine.” She nods mutely and continues with the tour. She is calmer now, however, as if she’s trying rein in her hyperactivity to accommodate you and your subdued nature. You appreciate the thought.

-

Night has fallen in Echo Creek. Even though the planet, the situation, the _everything_ is different the night is the same with its loud silence and cool indifference.

Before you know it, the dark muddle of your mind trickles from where you shoved them in in the hopes they would just _shut up_ and _leave you alone_ (never going away, never going away, **_always here_** ). You know sleep isn’t coming tonight. Even in a whole new situation, the thoughts are still here, whispering (but in the silence of the night it sounds like a scream) dark nothings. They’re almost comforting in their consistency like the twitching of your body that accompanies them.

You slip out of the bed they provided you with as quietly as you can while your eyes flicker around the room, memorizing the layout. The cool of the floor reminds you of the cool of the castle’s stone floors and the thought of home is a bittersweet one. You hold on to it for a while longer before exhaling deeply and letting it go. Your shoulders set in determination. You have a mission to accomplish.

-

Light suddenly floods the dark room you were standing and you tense, mind and body ready for battle. “Marco,” a soft, sleepy, and confused voice prompts, “what are you doing?” Your body relaxes, realizing it’s just Star and you turn around to face her. She stands staring at you in confusion, dressed in a light purple nightgown with a sole baby blue star in the middle of her chest and using her phone as a flashlight. (She looks adorable.) Confusion is written all over her face along with a concern that always seems to be there when she looks at you.

“Marco,” she repeats, voice clearer this time, but still sleepy, “what are you doing?”

You wave your hand around, gesturing to the room. “Just surveying the grounds.”

“But why are you ‘surveying the grounds’ at,” she checks her phone,” 1:27 in the morning?” She pauses and yawns while rubbing at her eyes. “You know we have school tomorrow or today, I guess, right?”

You nod curtly and her and shift, a bit uncomfortably, where you stand. “I’m aware of having school to attend later today, but I have to get myself familiar with the grounds so I know how to act in times of crisis. I wasn’t able to sleep anyway, so I made use of my free time.”

“Free time? Marco, I-“ Star groaned and planted her face in her hands. “This is not ‘free time’ this _sleep time_. You, despite being from a different dimension and all that crap, seem to work pretty similar to us humans and I know sleep is essential.” Star grabbed your wrist and started walking, pulling you along for the ride. “We’re going to my room and you are going to do this wonderful thing called sleep. I’ll even let you use the good pair of headphones, with the best sound quality. Just, you need to sleep, okay?”

She stopped her fast-paced stride towards her bedroom and turned to face you. “Marco,” she said, taking your face in her hands, “you need to sleep. Okay?” You fail to respond again and she leans forward, pressing your foreheads together. “Okay?” You nod numbly and she steps back, takes your hand a begins her fast-paced stride to her room again.

-

Star’s room is interesting to say the least. She doesn’t favor the minimalist style you’ve strangely taken up despite your origin in grandeur, her room in filled top to bottom. It isn’t however filled with useless trinkets like you expected. Only part of it has useless trinkets. The other parts are stuffed with stuffed animals, arts and crafts supplies, and arts and crafts projects. The walls are soft pastel covers covered in posters of cute creatures like unicorns, flying narwhals, etc. In the middle of everything is a big bed, also pastel colors, with a stuffed unicorn head on it. It’s very extravagant. It fits her.

Star kicks some stuff away from the side of her bed then goes to her closet to look for something. You watch in amusement as she mutters curses under breath and some things are thrown out like a baseball bat, and wooden sword and some pillows. Eventually, she pulls out a blue roll and fans it out in the empty space she made by her bed. It was recognizable as one of those instant beds or ‘camping bags’.

Star grabs the stuffed unicorn head and slips into the sleeping bag. You stare at her in surprise. She’s not supposed to give up her bed, it’s her house and you’re just a _guest_ … The surprise must be visible on your face because Star sighs and gets out the sleeping bag. She goes to the hoard of stuffed animals and pulls out a red teddy bear. Then she treads over to a desk drawer and pulls out a pair of headphones connected to a boxy something. She walks to you and places the red teddy bear in your hands and the headphones over your ears. The soft sound of rain comes from them. It’s soothing.

Before you know it, you feel your eyelids getting heavy, your stance slouching, and your little sleep catching up with you. Black encompasses your vision and you sleep.

You dream of standing the eye of a hurricane, Star by your side.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> was that foreshadowing? i sure as hell don't know. i have no plan i really need to make one. im pretty stumped on how to continue. i do wanna talk about marco having issues and taking steps to deal with them, like therapy, but that's far in the future. any suggestions?  
> also thank you for the many kudos's and hits. i love you guys! :D  
> fun fact of my day: i went to see the boys at my school's first basketball game. they won 55-37 it was really cool! i saw my tall friend play for a bit and my other friend cheerlead. there's another game this monday, so im trying to be as productive as possible this weekend, reading ahead in the book, drafting my essay, drafting my brochure for social studies, and finishing a german project. i probably won't be here next week. sorry for the inconvenience!


	4. shooting stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I disappeared for a month again. I'm just hopeless at this schedule thing. I am trying to write more though. maybe it's just a paragraph a day for a side story but its something. if this chapter seem of lower quality, I'm sorry but it was hard to force out. also who's excited for the new episode this Monday? woop woop

Some nights, when the Sun goes down and the moon comes out along with a darkness that encompasses the sky, you watch the things of which you get your name sake. When everything starts moving too fast, to a point in which you feel you can’t catch up, like you’re _stuck,_ you can always slip outside at night tip your head upwards and see thousands of you in the sky. Twinkling, little stars weaved up into the night sky shining their tiny beams of light down at you. They’re always here for you, never judging even when you feel _stupid,_ and always listening when you need someone to rant to because you’re tired and angry because you’re _underestimated_ or _overwhelmed_ and you just need to cry or talk to someone. The stars are reliable. (Sometimes when nothing else is.) (You want to learn to be reliable like them.)

When Marco knocks out like a light on your shoulder, you take time to think, to make a game plan. You lay your head on his and just let your mind wander. The fluffy brown hair, which is softer than you thought it would be, makes a good pillow. You look at the stars, look at them from the wide window doors that lead to the balcony.

This, right here, what you have is good. It’s a start. There’s a hesitant trust, like a child showing the teacher their favorite toy, and _wow_ if that isn’t a weird analogy (or is a metaphor? A simile?), but as you turn your gaze to Marco you think it strangely fits. You can work with this. You can build something with this. He snores lightly and as tranquil and as comfortable as this is, neither of you probably want a cricked neck, so you set him down in your bed. Next to him lies Mr. Firebrick, the red teddy bear, and his wife Mrs. Seafoam, and you know it’s stupid to name teddy bears after colors, but you’ve seen too many Mr. Teddy’s so no one can judge.

You snuggle up in the sleeping bag, but after 20 minutes of staring at the ceiling without feeling a drop of sleepiness coming your way, you know sleep won’t be coming for a while.

Even knowing that it would probably be better to stay lying in the sleeping bag, you slip out of it anyway and out onto the balcony. The stars twinkle bright tonight, almost as if they’re happy to see you.

“Hello,” you murmur, and they don’t respond, they never do, but you like to imagine they’d say hello if they could. They offer a listening ear, but you don’t have much to say today.

After an hour of just staring at the stars hung in the sky, you slip back into the sleeping bag and fall asleep.

-

When you wake up, it’s 6:15 am and you’re in your bed. Mr. Firebrick, Mrs. Seafoam, and Ponyhead are all tucked in near you and Marco is nowhere to be seen. You’re a bit worried about his whereabouts, but not too worried since he seems smart enough.  

You notice the headphones and your cassette are placed neatly on the cabinet near your bed. The sleeping bag is rolled up, and placed at the foot of the cabinet. You don’t know why, but it makes you smile when you see it.

As much as you’d just like to sit here and bask in the moment, you do have school and you need to get prepared. You stretch before heading to the shower.

-

When you get to the dining table, it’s tense. Your mother is chatting with Marco, light idle chatter, nothing too deep, but also nothing too friendly. She asks him where he’s from and he says Spain, face twisting just the smallest bit. Your mom notices, you can see it in the way her eyes flicker, but after years of working with corporates, dealing with negotiating, your mother has become a master at knowing when to press and when not to. She doesn’t say anything.

You see Marco’s eyes glance at your mother’s bags but he doesn’t press either because after being the spotlight of a kingdom for 14 years, you guess he knows the art of the conversation as well.

You take a seat, and both pairs of eyes go to you. “Hello,” you chirp, trying to brighten the mood, “how are we doing this excellent morning?”

The tenseness bleeds out for a while, your mother responding _fine, Star_ and Marco responds _I’m doing okay_. Neither answers good or great, like you hoped, but that’s probably the best you’re getting out of both of them.

Marco eyes are staring just below your eyes and you raise your eyebrow in questioning. He gently presses a hand there and murmurs, “Did you get enough sleep?”

Before you can answer, your father walks in the room hearty laughs filling the air. They dull slightly when he notices Marco’s hand pressed on your bottom eyelid, but he doesn’t falter his joyous step. You take Marco’s hand in yours and slowly lower them from your face into your lap. It’s only then does he notice your father in the room does he remove his hand from yours.

“Good morning, Mr. Butterfly,” he says and your father’s eyes lose their slight hostility, like he can see what you saw in Marco, the need for a friend.

He claps him on the back. “No, need to address me that way, boy! You can just call me River.”

Marco’s nose does that scrunchy thing it does when he’s confused and his eyebrows knit together but he tries, “Okay, …River.”

You and your father woop and your mother’s lip quirks the slightest bit at the end. It’s a good morning.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent some time just rewatching some svtfoe episodes. the friendship is just so pure, I love them. now how to start the plot is the question.


	5. moving forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn, it's been a long time since i've updated. i wish i could say i had a good excuse but it was mostly laziness. i actually had half of this chapter written in the beginning of may, but the other half just wouldn't come out? i don't know. in good news, i have a plot outline now, woo! this story actually has a direction! on an unrelated note, for my final marking period, i got all a pluses! are you proud of me? summer vacation means i have more time to write, so i will try to be more productive. i don't make any promises though, as laziness is a major character trait in me and i have 5 essays to write for honors social studies next school year. who's excited for season three!  
> (Thanks for the comments and kudos while i was away. each email alerting me of one really motivated me to write. also thanks for over 500 hits :D)

“So Marco, tell me about your wand thingy.”  
You look away from the board to Star, who’s idly chewing on the end of her pencil and staring at you.  
You raise an inquiring eyebrow and she raises one right back. This goes on a good three minutes before something seemingly clicks in Star’s mind and she makes to clarify.  
“You know,” she says, waving a doodle covered hand around, “the thing you used to change your outfit.” She throws her arms out, making a gesture of some kind, “with the red lights and all that.”  
This information clears up nothing for you and you tug at your hoodie, picking at the yin-yang symbol on it, until it hits you.  
Star clears her throat, trying to get you to hurry you along, and you roll your eyes, a gesture you learned from her. She hits your arm in response and you flick her on the hand (another gesture learned from Star and her multiple trials of it on you). The teacher (Mrs. Gluon, you think) actually clears _her_ throat this time and glares sharply at the two of you.  
Star squirms in her seat, a feeling a bit guilty. She doesn’t move, but you have enough sense to skirt away from her. This seems to sate the teacher as she turns back to to the whiteboard and continues on with her lesson as if the interruption never occurred.  
You try to listen to the teacher but small ‘psst’ sounds from Star distract you. Eventually, she seems to have had enough of your inattention because something small and round hits the side of your head. You turn to see what it is and see something shiny on the floor. A glittery marble with a pink heart painted on it. _Of course._  
Star smiles in response to the exasperated glare thrown at her and jumps back to the previous topic. “So,” she starts again, “about your wand.”  
Not wanting to aggravate the teacher again and earn another stare down, you quickly fish it out of your backpack and toss it at her. She catches it in one hand and twirls it, making a slight oohing sound as she does.  
The teacher turns around to glare suspiciously and you smile your most disarming smile until she turns back around.  
You turn to face Star and she’s still twirling it around, this time with more flair, but also with more concentration, almost as if she’s inspecting it at the same time.  
For a second you swear you can see the yin-yang symbol on the wand’s center swish around, like it’s forming something else, and the bulb on the base of the wand glow a bit more, but a blink later, it’s gone.  
You ignore it, putting it to the back of your mind.

(You probably shouldn’t have.)  
                                                                                                                                   -  
When you get back to the Butterfly residence, you take time to finish the assigned homework.  
(“What is this?”  
“It’s homework, Marco.”  
“What do you do with it?”  
“Do it.”  
“Now?”  
“I mean, _you can_ , but most just do it at home, hence the ‘home’ part.”  
“Why is it assigned?”  
“Because the teachers hate us or something like that. Personally, I think they derive some sick sort of pleasure from our suffering.”  
“Oh, okay. Why do you do it?”  
“Full of questions today, aren’t we! Look, buddy, I’m not trying to fail and have my mother’s mile-long disappointed stare on me. Nope, no thank you sir.”)  
As you stare at the ceiling, your thoughts swirl. Since your idling doesn’t seem to be calming them down, you take another walk around the home, this time without a clear destination. You end up in a dark room, something dubbed the training room if you remember right.  
Not having a flashlight on you, you take out your wand and murmur “Illuminare,” and the wand flares up, chasing away the dark in the room.  
When you inspect it, there’s nothing too out of the ordinary, a few punching bags hanged up, blue mats strewn all over the room and benches presses with weight shoved in a corner. A gym bag lies to the side, curious, but the awful smell coming from it prevents you from looking any closer. Another bag lies near the corner of the room and you creep towards it, not wanting your nostrils to be bombarded again by such an awful stench. (And you thought the monsters back home smelled bad.)

This bag, however, doesn’t seem to have that same putrid smell that stuck to other one, so you creep close enough to touch it. After careful deliberation about the pros and cons of weighing the bag, eventually curiosity wins out and you pick it up. It’s incredibly light, almost like nothing’s in it, nothing heavy anyway. Your curiosity grows even more and you peek inside and something flashes, reflecting the light of your wand back at you. Before you can see what it actually is, someone calls you from the doorway and you turn around to face them, shifting a bit guiltily where you stand, bag still in your hands and behind your back. Gabe or Garrett, or something else that starts with a g (what’s his name?), stands there with a single eyebrow raised, shifting the gem on his forehead in the forehead in the weirdest way. “Anyways,” he says, ignoring your blatant staring, “Star requests your presence.”  
“Okay,” you respond and make to leave. He stands in front of you and glares sharply at the bag in your hands. You carefully place the bag down and step around him. As you leave you see him step farther inside the room. You personally find it weird, but that’s not your place to judge.  
                                                                                                                                -  
Star is waiting outside your room, bouncing excitedly while she waits. When she sees you, she squeals in delight and grips your shoulders, bouncing you along with her. Before you know it, you're dizzily gripping at her wrists, trying to signal for her to stop. She does, and smiles apologetically at you. Brushing it off, you try to peer into your room to see what Star is so excited about, but she shifts with you, blocking the view. She keeps doing this until you throw up your hands in a slight frustration, and she concedes, too excited to show what she has in store.  
"SURPRISE," she yells, throwing your door open. The inside of the room is very different from when you last saw it. The walls are painted a deep maroon color and there's a desk pushed into the right wall with somethings on top of it, like a few notebooks, pens, pencils, a phone, and another Earth thing you're not yet acquainted with. The bed sheets are (thankfully) still gray but a lot puffier than before.  
"Also," she grunts, form bent over something in the closet, "I was kind enough to- _god this thing is heavy_ , rearrange your closet." Finally, she tosses the thing out of the closet onto the bed, stretching while somehow simultaneously glaring at it. "If I have back problems, I'm blaming you," she mutters at the book, still trying to catch her breath. "I have no idea where to put this this thing though."  
"It's-" a wheeze from Star, "it's a family thing. Passed from generation to generation, my grandmother gave it to my mother and my mother to me. Full of spells and all the fun stuff."  
"I wonder," you murmur, "if I could find my mother's spell." As you flip through it, the spine of the book groans in protest, some of the pages browned and wrinkled with age while others are a crisp white, the stitching along the edges fresh and ink still vibrant as when they were first written. Your mother's spells are written on these pages, her neat looping handwriting the same as the last time you saw it, on the papers she was signing, officially sending you away, but that's beside the point.  
“Woah,” says Star, fingers tracing along neat handwriting. “Spell of spying? Spell of ice? Spell of _fire_? This is all you need to live life right here.”  
Leafing through the pages with her, you're able to take in all the work your family has put into this book, the love, the consideration, the time, the power. This is your family’s legacy right here in your hands and all of that’s been passed onto you. (It makes you feel nervous, makes you feel small, makes you feel _something_ , something you can’t describe.)  
On the back cover, in bright big letters, there lies the word, ‘Welcome!’ and an oddly shaped indent in the thick leather.  
“Wait,” Star says, snatching the wand from your hand and ignoring the indignant squawk you make, “doesn’t this go-” and she places your wand face up in the indent, the wand sinking in to match it perfectly. It starts to glow faintly and the ying-yang symbol starts swishing but nothing else happens and eventually the wand returns to its normal state.  
“Well that was rather anti-climatic,” you state, moving to get your wand. Before you can touch it, the book suddenly flies up, cutting sharply through the air and the pages starts moving all on their own. The book stops on a page speaking of guides, and words start flying off the page, forming a mini tornado, moving so fast you can’t read any of them until a small figure bursts through, scattering the words all around them and onto the bed.  
“Hello!” they say, hand held out, ”I’m Jem, your new guide.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who's excited? i'm excited! foreshadowing and finally moving the plot forward, thank god. (my goal is to have a new chapter before season three comes out mid-july)


	6. stepping stones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the sky opens up around you. it's beautiful. (the beginning of something new)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been gone for 5 (almost 6) months. yiiiiikes. so sorry. its because of summer procrastination, summer revelations, and i revamped the entire plot. (i have to do so much research and im going to be handling some delicate subjects, buut someone's prediction was partially right >;D) this chapter is short because i wanted to get something out before the new episodes, but im actually doing nanowrimo this month and my goal is 17000 words, so if i stick to it, there should be more content coming out. (im considering drawing some art for this fic, so be excited about that!)

Words litter your body, some landing softly like _look_ , while others land harshly like _procedure_ and _dependent_ . You brush them off, some pricking your fingers, like _point_. You think some more are in your hair, but you can’t see them from here, so you leave them there. You can deal with them later.

 

“Oh,” Gem says, purple skin turning magenta, “I didn’t mean to—just, ah, let me,” they say, waving their hands a bit frantically. The words float upwards, forming a little ball above the book, before splattering all over the page, back where they’re supposed to be. Despite having lived with Marco for over a week, and seeing all his casual acts of magic, it still amazes you to see it used so freely. A part of you itches to touch it, a part of you feels like you’ve been starved of it, a part of your spirit craves it, reaches out to it, but after it’s gone there’s just a dull pang of longing.

 

They move to straighten out your clothes, muttering under their breath. “I’m, I’m sorry,” they say, voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to offend the princess.”

 

Your eyes fly open, and you grab their hands. “Woah, I’m not the royalty you’re looking for.” You turn them towards Marco who’s strangely hasn’t said anything during the whole ordeal.

 

...Well, it’s not _that_ surprising, but he had been making progress! You had a bit of hope. He’s been more talkative around you, but they’re new, so you guess he needs time to assess…

 

And Gem is still talking, right! “I just thought, since she—” Marco shakes his head, eyes flickering over to you, before he focuses back on them.

 

He talks Gem quietly, words so quiet, you have strain to hear them. He brushes off their concerns, reassuring them that he didn’t mind. You jump to hug them, and they start (is everyone in España this wary?), tensing under your touch. “Messing up is natural! Everyone does it!”  

 

“What’s important,” Marco says, voice a quiet hum, but filled with reassurance, “is learning from it and moving forward.”

 

“Okay.” Gem rolls their shoulders and bounces from side to side midair, almost as if they’re preparing for a fight. It’s strangely endearing. A clap of their hands and a clip board with a pen appears in front of them. “This test will be broken up into six parts, each one testing a different aspect of your magical aptitude.”

 

A blink and you’re no longer in Marco’s room. The ceiling is gone, castle towers stretching far above your head only bending to pastel clouds littered with cotton candy clouds. It’s _beautiful_. There’s a soft padding of footsteps to your left and you can see Marco and Gem heading to the center of what looks like an empty courtyard. The whole castle looks a little cracked, old, but holding immeasurable secrets. You want to explore, but Gem clears their throat and your attention snaps to them.

 

“The first part of your assessment is magical strength.” Marco nods and Gem looks to you. “You can sit this out if you want, especially since… well…” Marco leans forwards and whispers into their ear, Gem’s eyes darting back and forth before settling on you.

 

“She doesn’t—”

 

“No.”

 

“Will you—”

 

“Maybe later. Right now, I have to take the assessment, right?” He smiles disarmingly and Gem starts again.

 

“Right. We’re going to test how powerful your magic is.” The floor let out a loud groaning sound and started to tremble. Hundreds, maybe thousands of dummies rose from it and surrounded Marco and you. A quick feel at them told you that they weren’t all that strong. A quick jab at the head had it flying off.

 

You turned to tell Marco, only to see that the scene had changed again. The decapitated dummy was now alone, with the rest still in the courtyard. You had been moved to a balcony that overlooked the whole thing.  Marco’s brown hair stood out among a sea of white. Leaning over the edge, you could see that he had settled into a starting stance, one wider than you were used to. It was still pretty solid though.

  
“Your goal is to destroy as many of these dummies as you can in five minutes. You can use pure magic attacks or physical attacks boosted by magic. You are _not_ allowed to use purely physical attacks.” A loud whistling sound cut through the air. “Begin!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see you soon! i can't wait.


	7. little light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i'm gonna let it shine, let it shine, let it shine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i failed miserably at meeting my goal, but i do know how im going to complete this story arc, so there's that. new episodes coming up! you excited? im trying out monthly updates to give myself a lot of time to write, so i don't give out shitty chapters.

The dummy stares at you mockingly, just daring you to hit it. You grip the wand tightly and point it at the dummy, stance a bit awkward. The ticking of the clock rings in your head, reminding you that your time is running out. You try to remember some spells from the book you were reading less than a half-hour ago but he only thing you can remember is  _illuminare, illuminare, illuminare_. 

Gem calls out the four-minute mark and Star starts chanting, trying to get you to do something, anything, but all you can hear is  _illuminare, illuminare, illuminare_ and wow isn't it funny that you can perform in front of a whole kingdom, but with an audience of two you freeze up? Isn't that just  _hilarious_? 

Gem calls out the three minute mark and you haven't moved from the awkward stance. Your thoughts start to eat you alive, drown you on dry land, until a voice cuts through the mess parading around in your mind, like a light in the darkness. You turn and see Star looking right at you, face soft, but voice firm. "Marco," she says, " _breathe_. _You can do this."_

That simple confidence, the naive hope in your ability calms you a bit and your mind starts to settle. You start taking deep breaths, just focusing on the rise and fall of your chest and little by little the fog clears and you can remember some of the spells, your mother's looping handwriting coming to mind. The wand warms in your hand and you smile to yourself. 

" _Ignia!_ " you cry, thrusting your wand forward and it warms, almost scorching until a large blaze flies out from your wand, power enough to send you flying into a few of the dummies. The blaze, to put it lightly, annihilates a good handful of the dummies, leaving an empty lane in front of you. 

Star starts cheering and you smile,  _you can do this_. The wand seems your sudden boost in confidence and it starts to vibrate slightly, like it's shaking with anticipation. You stand up and brush yourself off before settling into a more sure stance. The dummy in front of you rumbles in fear. 

-

"TIME!" 

You snap out of the destructive trance you were in to the clicking of Gem's pen and Star's hooting and hollering. Your wand is still glowing but starts to dim as you slowly lower your arms. 

Gem floats down, clipboard in hand and starts to survey the damage. They poke at charred remains, shattered ice, dummies with heads torn off and ones that were completely blown off their stands. You lean back to also look at the carnage and  _wow_ , you did a lot more damage than you thought. 

There are only a few dummies still standing, placed on the edges and barely avoid destruction. One has a charred side and another a side that's completely soaking. Gem nods at all of this before turning to you. 

"Okay, you've successfully completed the magical strength part of your test. Follow me, we'll be visiting the old training room for the second part."

Star squawks from her place on the balcony. "Hey!" she cries. "Don't forget about the non-magical girl, who, you know, can't get around this castle!"

Gem turns red and waves their hands and the railing of the balcony shifts, turning to stairs for Star to walk down. She skips down and takes your hand in hers before chirping excitedly. 

"That was  _awesome_. The fire just ate the dummies and don't even get me started on the water. They were just  _whoosh_ , washed away." She bumps her shoulder with yours. "You did a really good job."

You can feel your cheeks heating up and you turn away, a bit embarrassed. "Thank you," you murmur and squeeze her hand. She squeezes back, a little too tightly, but you appreciate the gesture anyways.

Star starts swinging your hands and humming a tune under her breath and you join in, recognizing it from a show she had been watching the other day. The only other sound to accompany it is the quiet  _tap, tap, tap_ of your footsteps on cracked floors. 

It's really nice.

-

The next room you stop at looks a bit of a mess. Discarded weapons litter the floors and arrows are lodged in the cracks lining the walls. You are pretty sure you can see through the some of the holes in the walls. Star picks up a sword and starts swinging it around, a bit unpracticed. You have to dodge a few swings before deciding that  _maybe_ it's a better idea to stand a bit farther from her.

Gem stops in front of a target that somehow isn't stuffed with arrows or covered in a rotting cloth. A quick tap at their clipboard pushes you back onto a clear spot in the clutter and Star to the side of it all. 

"This the first part of a test of your precision. You goal is to hit as close to the center of the target as possible."  

You look at them a bit confused, because you clearly don't know any spells that deal with precision, but they just look back at you expectantly. 

You settle back into a starting stance, wand held in front of you. After a moment of deliberation, you decide to use an old favorite of your mom's, the few times you saw her practicing her combat skills. 

A slash downwards and a yell of  _tocare_  produces a thin razor of wind. You feel proud of your self until you see that you missed the target entirely and only hit the stand of the target.  _Yikes_. 

Star lets out a low whistle, wincing in sympathy and Gem just scribbles something down. You line up to try again, maybe get it right this time, but a quick cutting gesture of Gem's hands stops you. 

"That'll be enough."

You nod, disappointed with your performance. You could've done so much better, if only you had known more, had taken more time to study, you could've been  _so much better_. Your grip tightens on the wand. 

Gem leads you farther into the training room, stopping where the roof has fallen in to reveal lilac skies. Star  _oohs_ at them, but you don't say anything, a bit lost in your thoughts. The view looks vaguely familiar, scraps of a buried memory coming back to you. 

You are three years old and you think the night sky is very pretty, the stars looking like lots of bowls of milk on a black table. You wonder if a cat will come to lick them up. Your mom laughs when you say this, shoulders quivering. Your dad hugs you tighter to his chest and you snuggle back, content. Broken pieces of the old castle float around you, too far from the ledge you're sitting on to hurt you. 

Your dad starts to sing, voice a low rumbling in his chest, like waves rolling over the beach shore. Your mom joins him, voice like the tweeting of the birds in the morning. You start to hum, not really knowing the song or the tune but the feeling in the air convinces you to try. 

You want to stay there for a little longer, but that is neither here nor there, so you let go, focusing on the task at hand. 

There are glass orbs floating around you, darting from side to side and up and down. The light in them flickers, fire dancing around. A target darts between them, on one orb, then another a few seconds later. Watching it honestly makes you feel a bit dizzy so you opt to just stare at Gem, who has made themselves comfortable on the nearby remains of a pillar.  

"You have to smash the target as many times as possible, without smashing the orbs around it.” 

Gem stands up and a quick flick of their wrist shatters an orb, glass pieces raining down.

“You have three minutes." A sharp whistle cuts through the air and you fish out the wand again.

The orbs  _somehow_  start speeding up until they're just blurs in the air. A few knock into you, slamming into your back, your thigh, and your knee. One knocks into your forehead, knocking you down onto the floor and Gem giggles. For a moment, you can see red, but the rage reminds you scarily of that night, so you tamp it down quickly. 

You get back up slowly, narrowly dodging another orb and you try to look at the problem logically. Your goal? Smash the target orb. The problem? You couldn't see which one it was. Solution: Slow them down. But how?

Star starts making hurry up gestures behind Gem, mouthing the words, 'one minute'. You wished you everything could just  _pause_  for a moment, but you couldn't find the words, couldn't formulate the thoughts and just frothed a bit. 

The wand shook and you looked at it to see that it had changed. The black in the wand had completely overtaken the white and only a small bit of light remained swimming around, lost.  _Like it was trying not to drown_. 

A full body shiver runs though you and you hardly notice when Gem calls time. Star places her hand on your shoulder and squeezes, not saying anything, but looking quite sad all the same. You smile shakily at her, too disturbedto conjure up a real one. A quick glance at the wand and it looks like it did before. 

A perfect yin-yang symbol. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have the next chapter half written. it shoudn't be too long. see you next time!


	8. opaque colors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this instead of my social studies essay and my fake trial witness testimonies. pray for me. thanks for over 1000 hits! (hint: she’s not blushing)

The room you step into is beautiful, like someone took the big clock of time and held its handles for a moment. You've had the same thought process for a lot of the rooms you've walked into, but it remains true for each one. As Gem sets up, you wonder what Marco will have to do this time.

There was a hide and seek one, the wand being hidden among the constantly shifting crevices of a room. That one was the most fun, you think. Marco just seemed a bit frustrated, having to keep his eyes closed, but when you managed to find an old diary entry and read it out  in the snobbiest, most nasally voice you could muster, he couldn't help but start laughing. You dissolved into laughter right alongside him, because even _acting_ serious was a herculean task for you.

The most boring one was when you walked into a library ( _of course_ ) and Marco just sat at he old desk and took a _history test_ for half an hour. You tried to entertain yourself, making book towers but after the fifth one collapsed and Marco's glares became increasingly aggravated, you got the hint. You didn't think someone could make _magic_ boring, but there was a way to do everything, you guess. You found a sparkly turquoise stone lying on one table and played with it for the rest of the time, dubbing it 'Sir Bartholomew the Third' because you were unique.

It still jiggled in your pocket as you watched Gem instruct Marco to stand in the middle of the room, saying something about improvisation. Pillars rise all around him, varying in height, the tallest with a little speck of a bell on top. Compared with all the humongous structures around it, you can't help but find its size, compared to the rest of the things in the room, a bit funny.

Gem rings it, the loud but deep sound rattling though the room, and Marco begins. He jumps from pillar to pillar, giving you a mini-heart attack every time it looks like he's about to slip. He makes through half of the pillars before one that's too high to jump is the next one he has to scale. You almost start the chanting again (thank you for all those times you had gone to the cheerleaders' practices) but he doesn't seem to be too conflicted on the matter.

He points his wand downwards and a plume of flame appears beneath him, the bright orange boosting him up just enough to grab onto the edge of the next pillar. He scrambles on face lighting up at the progress he's made. You let out a joyous sound, happy for him, even if he can't hear it from there.

Next a pillar of blue appears beneath him, then something you can't quite see, then orange again. This goes on until it's just faint glows that indicate his location, his silhouette little more than speck in the sky.  That loud ringing sounds again and the pillars lower, Marco jumping down from the last one.

"That went surprisingly... well."

"Yeah, it did!" You take a look around at the once again flat terrain of the room before turning back to him. "Any more exams?"

He hums affirmatively. "Just one more. Gem says it won't physically strenuous like these have been." He shoots you an inquiring look. "You sure you wanna come along? It won't be as exciting as the ones before. I can ask Gem to take you back to the old training room for a while."

You briefly consider it, the swords there were nice and thick, the blades much sharper than the ones you had at home, but decide against it. Yeah, it might be boring, but not as boring as the history test, and you bet you could make it fun!

"Nah," you say, "I'll think I'll hang around."

-

This room, you can definitely say, is much different than the last. While it doesn't compare to the other rooms in beauty, there's a bit more sentimental value to this one than the others. It's a large bedroom, but instead of being the centerpiece of the room, the bed is by the wall, hastily pushed aside. In the middle of the room is just a fuzzy carpet.

This doesn't make any sense to you until your eyes start wandering around the room and idly land on the ceiling, and can you just say: _wow_ . You would like to retract your earlier statement about this room's beauty, because this one is _clearly_ the winner out of all the rooms.

Above the carpet, on the ceiling is a huge dome. At first glance it looks like a skylight, but closer inspection tells you that it's actually a painting. It's a painting of the sun, tendrils of sunlight expanding to the edges of the painting to match up with pillars. You think you can vaguely see it fading into a night sky, but it's too far away for you to tell.  

Marco settles criss-cross applesauce right into the middle of the rug, closes his eyes, and starts to breathe deeply, almost like he's asleep.

Nothing happens for a few minutes and you almost start to look around for entertainment until Marco's eyes snap open.

It's unsettling. The white of his eyes seems to have taken over, the iris and pupil not visible. The glowing eyes shift to your position, the gaze pinning you down. Your cheeks start to tingle and you start to sweat slightly because even though you're looking at Marco's body, it doesn't seem like he's there.   

He (or it) continues to stare before cracking a smile and closing his/its eyes. The next time they blink open it's Marco's eyes looking back at you. You don't think you've ever been so relieved to see the color brown.

After that you feel vaguely exhausted for some reason. You rub at your eyes and open them to see the maroon walls of Marco's room. A quick glance at the clock tells you that only a minute has passed even though it feels like two hours went by.

You look around for Gem only to realize they're gone and the spellbook is once again tightly shut on Marco's bed. When you touch the gem embedded on its cover, you swear you can feel it tremble slightly before going completely still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gem should be gone for a while. i feel uncomfortable writing in ocs, like im a fake, so im a bit relieved.  
> also! im writing a time travelling randy cunningham: ninth grade ninja fanfic. it’s called ‘semper iuvenis, itineribus omni tempore’ (i.e. me trying to be fancy with google translate latin) here’s some samples if you’re actually interested. im actually going to finish it before if i decide put it out there.  
> ‘its been a good four years, you think. its been a good four years and that should be enough and but you have a feeling it never is. you did your best, you think as you walk down the hallways. it'll be for the better you know. it doesn't help.’  
> ‘the door stands, foreboding, in front of you. you almost leave, run away, it would be so easy, you would just have to push past into the exit, ignoring the nonverbal protests, but no. that's not your place nor your duty.  
> you breathe in the dusty interior of the book one last time before pushing open the door.  
> you are fourteen, no eighteen. you are beginning your freshman year soon, finishing your senior. 
> 
> you wake up in your bed. you are fourteen and soon it will be the beginning of your freshman year. you hope it will be a good year. ‘  
> ‘the mirror says fourteen but your mind says eighteen and it's honestly a bit funny, but you're also freaking out at the same time because it's not supposed to be like this? you already did this? you’re stuck staring for what feels like a whole hour until the part of your brain that actually knows how to deal with this kicks into gear.’  
> ‘you realize for the first time that you're a bit alone with this all.  
> (all you can do now is wait.)’  
> ‘it's weird to think about and a small part of you wonders if you've gone crazy, if all the things that happened were just in your mind, if you've just been asleep and convinced yourself that the dream was real. you wiggle your fingers, feeling like your body isn't really yours, like even though you’re physically sitting right here, your mind isn't here, you aren't here and you start to wonder if any of this is real, maybe you're still eighteen and this is just the weird dream.  
> howard waves the newest grave puncher game in front of your face, practically vibrating with glee, bringing you back down to reality. you dig your nails into your arm to help you focus on the now. (it's not like you could do anything else anyways.)’  
> i feel like im beating the word 'you' to death. the struggles of second person pov.  
> happy new years’!


	9. wandering path

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a month late but in my defense, january was a hectic month. this is technically the februrary update, but february's a bit short sooo....  
> there should be another update later this march, but i make no promises as i have to panic about a lot of projects for school  
> in terms of the content of this chapter (putting this in caps for emphasis) TRIGGER WARNINGS ARE IN THE BRACES --->{THESE BAD BOYS} DO WHAT'S GOOD FOR YOU!! and you knooow i had to do it to 'em

You can’t sleep. You haven’t been able to sleep for the past few days (past few months) but today, for some reason seems even worse than the others. A vague feeling of dread curls in your gut, one that dispels any comfort the rain cassettes could bring or any solace Mrs. Seafoam’s fluffy blue body could provide. 

 

It leaves you quietly counting the chips on the ceiling (thirty-six, you counted twice) and the open seams along Mrs. Seafoam’s stitching (Twenty-seven). You count things around the room like this for quite a while, but when you run out of things and the clock only says 12:00 AM, you realize you’ll have to occupy your time a different way. 

 

You almost start to do the training exercises Gem had been drilling you on or even just some regular warm ups but you remember that Star’s room is just across the hallway and she’s seemed to have developed some supernatural ability of knowing when you’re doing anything even relatively pertaining to training when you’re supposed to be sleeping and always forces you into bed. (She always wakes up the next day with bags under her eyes and you  _ always _ feel guilty.)

 

You lie in the bed again, trying a little harder for sleep, but it doesn’t seem work. Your mind becomes hyper aware of all the little noises and they keep you awake. When you find yourself counting the amount of cricket noises you’ve heard, you know this is a lost battle. 

 

Frustrated, you sit up in the bed and start to curse yourself and your  _ stupid freaking insomnia _ , fists clenching and unclenching when your eyes catch the scented candles Star had taken to stockpiling in your room, gushing about their sweet scents. You try to remember the calming scent of the lavender candle, try to ease up because nothing good can ever happen when you’re worked up. 

 

You take deep breaths, the smell of lavender still fresh in your mind meshing with other scents you manage to call up, like the scent of empanadas cooking in the oven, the scent of the grass after rain and you’re taking deep breaths and the world is fading and you’re falling,  _ falling _ , f a l l i n g—

 

Falling?

 

The castle’s gardens is one of the universe’s best kept gardens. Flowers line the entrance, granting any visitor who happened to be there a sweet combination of scents. The gate is lined with  _ claveles _ and  _ campanillas  _ winding around metal bars to create a gentle elegance, the product of care for the flowers but not overbearance, allowing them to grow as they pleased. 

 

You walk along the stone path, littered with the petals of decaying flowers from spring. It’s always a bit sad to see the spring flowers slowly wither and then decay, but they have to make way for the summer flowers to bloom.   You pick one up anyways and slip it in your breast pocket, because that doesn’t mean the flowers have to be forgotten.

 

You stop by your mother’s pond,  _ lirios de agua _ idly floating around and  _ cachipollas  _ dancing above the water. Ducks float up to you and start quacking, wanting the bread you’ve previously given them, but today you’ve shown up empty-handed. They seem upset by this until you start to gently stroke their feathers, soothing them.

 

A few minutes pass like this and you’re content just remaining by the pond with the ducks, the  _ lirios de agua _ , even the  _ cachipollas _ , but the feeling in the air changes and suddenly the duck is no longer under your fingers and the rest have decided to make themselves scarce. You don’t understand why until you catch a whiff of something just  _ foul _ . Covering your nose doesn’t help the problem so you decide that you can deal with the source and get back to hanging out with the ducks.

 

The path strangely enough seems to lead up to the smell, the further down it you go along, the worse the smell gets. Lily petals are scattered all over, but grow more in number until you’re staring down a wall of them. The smell is overtaking your senses, mixing with the lilies to create this awful cacophony that makes your eyes water, but you know the answer to your problems is behind the wall so you wipe your eyes and  _ push _ .

 

{trigger warning! be mindful!}

  
  
  
  
  


You really wish you hadn’t.

 

On the floor, by the fountain that stands as a centerpiece to the whole garden, on the floor is your parents’ bodies, pools of blood seeping out of them. Bruises and missing patches of skin, and holes and just telling this awful story of _death,_ a death that stands too closely to your heart. Bile rises and you puke in the bushes, not minding the hydrangeas being splashed with vomit. You dry heave for a few more moments, your body making sure everything’s out before you can even think about getting up. 

 

Your eyes flicker around desperately looking for anything to look at than the  _ bodies _ (dead, dead, dead, dead,  _ they’re d e ad _ ) and your eyes land on someone you missed, a monster sitting on the fountain. They grin at your broken face, tears trailing down, vomit smudged on your cheeks, a knife twirling between their fingers. Everything seems a bit hazy, but their face remains startlingly clear and you wish it would blur with the rest of the scene ( _ go away, go away, GO AWAYGOAWAY)  _ but them something clicks in your mind, making this  _ so much worse _ (a sick joke). 

 

_ It’s him. _ His blood was smeared across your fingers and now their blood is smeared across his and it’s all some sick  _ joke _ . But wait, it’s not quite the same. His face is rounder, snout smaller, eyes a bit more circular. It’s not him.  _ It’s his son _ . 

 

He hops of the fountain and strides up to you, gripping your face, voice a mesh of all you’ve heard, blood staining your cheeks, “ **LoOK** _ WHA _ **_t’ve y_ ** _ o u ve done _ —” you jerk back, putting space between you and it all but he keeps moving closer and you can’t see where you're going, but you’re running trying to get away, when your knees hit a hard surface and you're suddenly surrounded by water and  _ you can’t breathe  _ (where’s the air,  _ you need to breathe, BREATHE— _ )

 

{we good!}

 

Your lungs are constricted, the tears are just falling, and you’re crushed tightly to someone’s chest. “Come on,” they whisper, voice wobbly with worry, “come on, come on—”

 

And you remember, that you’re not at home in  España , but in Echo Creek and you were supposed to be trying to sleep. Your breaths are still short but better than before because Star pulls back, eyes watery. 

“It was so scary, Marco,” she says voice trembling, “you were just  _ gone _ and I couldn’t help you, I couldn’t do  _ anything _ , I was just _ useless _ —” her voice cuts off with a sob and she hugs you tightly again. You hug her tightly back, trembling slightly.

 

Neither of you sleep that night.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):)  
> On like a completely unrelated note, how do you guys like ddlc? i didn't this chapter would get so dark tbh, but things happen  
> for those who skipped the scene, Marco basically finds his parents brutally murdered by the assassin's son, throws up, tries to get away and falls in a fountain


	10. bright skies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao i really don't have an excuse this time i've just been really tired. but, who else enjoyed the new episodes? in case u were worried, marco will be remaining an only child in this story  
> also, i feel like i haven't been writing star as a teenager, so! i'm going to be working on that!

You’ve never really had a favorite color. It wasn’t that you disliked them all, it was more you liked them all too much to choose one. It’d be a sunny day when you stepped outside and a particular ray of sunshine would fall on you, warming you just right and you’d faithfully declare that yellow was your favorite color. But then, the next day you’d pass by a bunch of dancers in the street, spinning on their heads and just twisting their bodies in the most amazing ways with their red track suits gliding across cardboard laid on the ground and then you’d fall in love with red.

 

It caused your teachers a lot of grief when they did those get to know me projects and you ended up desperately trying to erase crayon with a plastic eraser because your favorite color had changed between now and thirty minutes ago when you had colored it. So, eventually you had learned to start saying you didn’t have a favorite color. And when that didn’t work, you learned to say that rainbow was your favorite color. It got you a few raised eyebrows, but it worked, so you were happy. 

 

So when you’re sitting at the table staring at the rainbow cupcakes your father baked for breakfast a dopey smile starts to pull at your lips for no reason other than the fact that you really like the rainbow color.

 

And maybe because you’re a bit sleep deprived.  _  Maybe _ .

 

Marco slides in the seat next to you and you slide him a cupcake before finally biting into yours. Sugar explodes on your tongue and you let out a delighted hum. 

 

“These are  _ sooo _ good Dad!” you yell, voice muffled by all the cupcake that is still in your mouth.

 

His head pops out the kitchen and he beams. “Thank you sweetie,” he says before popping back in. 

 

You down a few more cupcakes and a glass of juice before turning to Marco, the incoming sugar rush energizing you a bit. He places down his untouched cupcake and looks at you a bit nervous. 

 

You’re confused until you register that you’re bouncing in your seat, and  _ yep _ that makes sense. You bound to your feet and grasp his shoulders, not minding the small wince he gives, and start talking rapid fire. 

 

“ _ IneedtogoandgrabmystuffforschoolandputonmystickershowdidIforgetthem?beforewecangoandyoushouldworkonthatbreakfastokay?okay. _ ”

 

He blinks at you confusedly, processing the info before nodding slowly. You smile brightly at him before skipping upstairs.

 

As you put the stickers on your cheeks, for some reason this feeling comes over you, a feeling you can’t quite shake but then you remember your imminent English quiz and groan internally. 

 

You really hope this sugar will carry you throughout the day. 

 

-

 

It  _ does not _ carry you through the day, in fact you crash right before Algebra I and the class becomes even worse than usual. By lunch you’re already begging to any god that will have you to spare you this pain. 

 

Your face is planted into the table with only the sounds of Marco chewing alerting you to the outside world, so when you feel knuckles rapp the back of your neck, you’re considerably confused.

 

You look up to see Marco squinting at someone behind you before you hear it.

 

“B-fly! I missed you girl, how you doin’?”

 

You let out a shriek before turning around and crushing her in a hug.

 

“Ponyhead! I missed you  _ sooo _ much! Where have you been?”

 

“My old man sent me some academy to try and ‘straighten me out’. Pshhhh,  _ as if _ . I threw a party so grand they kicked me out.” She flipped her hair over shoulder. “I guess they could handle my awesomeness.” She gazed at the table before her eyes narrowed. Jerking her head towards it she asked, “Who’s Broody McBrooderson?”

 

“Broody McBrood- Oh, you mean Marco!” You sit Ponyhead on the bench next to him and they gaze at each other, Ponyhead’s gaze suspicious and Marco’s considering. 

 

Putting out a hesitant hand, he introduced himself. “Marco Diaz. Transfer student.” A small smile was on his lips as he waited for a response. 

 

Ponyhead on the other hand was less kind. She gripped his hand tightly, jerking him towards him and whispering something in his ear. His smile dropped and his face went a careful blank, taking one last glance at her before turning away towards you.

 

Okay, so that  _ hadn’t  _ gone as well as you had planned, but whatever. Give it some time and you were sure they could become best friends. You clasped your hands together and smiled, brighter than it had been in sometime. 

 

“I’m sure with you back, school will be interesting again.”

 

Ponyhead grinned, baring all her teeth. “You  _ know  _ it will be.”

 

-

 

Even though you’re excited to see Ponyhead again, you only really have two class periods together (besides lunch) so you don’t get to see her again until the end of the day in World History. 

 

Pony’s been gone for weeks and this is one of the only classes you actually like, so you don’t notice she’s there until the end of the period when everyone’s packing up and she slides up next you.

 

“Heeey, Star.” You grunt out an affirmative noise around the pen in your mouth as you try to figure out how to stuff the rest of your five hundred pens into your small handbag. A small pluck noise goes off next to you, but you don’t pay any attention to it until all your pens are in the handbag and your books are in a (somewhat) organized pile. 

 

Marco is glaring at Pony and rubbing at a red spot on his forehead while Pony looks positively smug. He presses his face into his hands, lets out a huge sigh before coming back up to face the world again. He looks tired and this is getting ridiculous.

 

You grab Pony by the arm and drag her to the side of the room. “Pony, seriously, what’s your problem?”

 

She gives you a sidelong glance before letting out a puff of air and turning to stare at the ceiling. “My problem? I don’t have a problem.” She turns to glare at the back of Marco’s head. “And what about you girl? Since when do you hang out with lame turds?”

 

“Marco is my friend! He may not be the most expressive and outgoing, but he’s my friend and I care about him a lot!” 

 

“I thought I was your best friend! I thought you cared about me!” She shoots back and even though she tries to hide it, you can hear the deep  _ hurt _ in her voice. 

 

“Pony.” Pony refuses to look at you, gaze firmly locked on a point in the distance. “Pony. Pooooony. Look at me. Look. At. Me.” Reluctantly she turns her head. “You are still my best friend and I  _ do _ care about you. But I am allowed to have other friends! Those friends don’t make your friendship worth any less! So please, just lay off Marco. For me?”

 

She puffs out another breath before sighing. “Okay,” she says, ruffling your hair, “but only for you, girl. But I still don’t get it.” She gestures at Marco, “Why him? All he’s done today is  _ brood _ . Why would you want to hang out with someone like that?” 

 

You punch her in the shoulder lightly. “I said to lay off. And he’s usually less broody, more reserved. He just had a rough night. Actually,” you say, clasping your hands together, “I was thinking about doing something for that, to cheer him up.” You turn your puppy eyes on her and she visibly winces. “Can you help me get him to be happier? I haven’t seen him  _ really _ laugh once and that is just wrong!” 

 

Pony tilts her head, thinking, and then her face lights up. “I think I have just the thing. It should make even lame turds like him have fun.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ponyhead! im very conflicted on where i see her as a character because if i met her in real life i would not like her at alll, but it is fun to write her!


	11. quiet corners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been two months im sooo sorry  
> summer vacation though woop woop! i won an award! there are some treats in this chapter! at least to me lmao  
> this chapter was hard to write, but i think i like it! (2K words!)

Star is acting  _ weird _ . She’s been bouncing around since you’ve arrived back at her residence and  _ still _ hasn’t stopped. The sugar was drained out of her system, you’re  _ sure  _ of that, so you don’t know why she’s so excited now. 

 

She hops into her room, popping into her closet and suddenly you’re dodging brushes, underwear, snapbacks, and a whole other multitude of items until she finally pops back out holding a few bags. She throws them up into the air and you catch them automatically before holding them out in front of you. The bag is marked with the name of some store from the mall that you  _ think _ sells clothes, but you’re not one hundred percent sure. 

 

Star grabs the bags out of your hands and places them on her bed, taking out clothes until she’s organized them into three outfits. She gestures to them and you pursue your lips, picking the one that hurts your eyes the least. Star may love pastel colors but you’d rather not walk around looking like a fever dream,  _ thanks _ . 

 

She puts the outfit in your hands, guiding (read: shoving) you into her bathroom, saying she’ll change in her closet and a bunch of other stuff you don’t hear. The door shuts behind you and you’re left in the bathroom with a fuzzy carpet and the jewel studded mirror. 

 

When you put on the outfit it’s surprisingly comfortable and when you look in the mirror the colors suit you. The outfit is actually really nice. While inspecting yourself in the mirror, your eyes catch on to your messy hair and you try to pat it down with limited success. You look for a brush on the sink countertop but the mess is so prominent that shifting some aside  _ somehow _ makes it even worse. Sighing, you leave it as it is. It’s not so bad you suppose.

 

When you walk out the bathroom, Star is still in her closet, but a screen has randomly appeared in front of it? You pause before shrugging your shoulders and knocking lightly on it. You hear something fall to the floor and Star pokes out her head, smiling when she sees you in the outfit. “I’ll be changed in a few,” she says before popping back behind the screen. 

 

To pass the time you try to locate a brush in here instead, but with no success. You  _ do _ find a nice pen and make a note to ask Star if you can borrow it later. As if on cue, Star pushes aside the boundary, fully displaying her outfit for whatever it is you’re doing. 

 

“How do I look?” she asks.

“Good,” you say, giving her two thumbs up to show your support. She beams at you, bounding over and slinging an arm over your shoulder.

“Thanks!” You idly pat her hand in response before stepping back a bit to take a look at her.

“Where are we even going Star?”

“A party!” she squeals and your good mood plummets into one of anxiety. Sensing this, Star tugs at your hoodie, dragging you back under her arm, not allowing you to escape.

You smile at her sheepishly. “Anyway I can  _ not _ go?”

Star lets out a small chuckle, patting your chest. “Oh Marco, sweet ignorant Marco, that’s funny.”

You let out a small sigh, already resigned to your fate. “Was worth a shot,” you mutter.

-

An assortment of lights are flashing out of the windows of the building Star brings you to. The frame of it is shaking with the bass of the music and you think you are shaking slightly too. Without missing a beat, Star throws the door open and yells out “HELLO ECHO CREEK!” The people cheer in response and Star pulls you further in. 

She points out all the different people there, getting a greeting  from each one of them, but you can’t help but notice the weird things they’re doing. Someone is trying to throw pieces of popcorn into someone else’s mouth, a group of people are seeing who can belch the loudest, and three friends are basically screaming the lyrics to a song. Star doesn’t seemed phased, but as far as you knew, this wasn’t how ‘parties’ usually went.

You remember pressed, prim suits with hair styled to perfection. You remember classical music playing softly in the background with people on the dance floor, bodies moving precisely, not missing a single step in the dances. You remember wearing white gloves to every single one, sweat gathering on the inside of them as they laid on top of your thighs. You remember the glances that were so small yet meant so much.

You remember that you  _ really _ hate parties.

Star doesn’t seem to take notice of your sweaty palms because she holds onto your hand tight until she sees Ponyhead and pushes you lightly towards her. Pony looks at you with a slight distaste but she doesn’t say anything about it, so you elect to be diplomatic about her earlier  _ warning _ and just drop it. “Welcome to the party, turd. Drinks and snacks are over there,” she gestures to large table, “dance floor there, karaoke there, there’s a game circle people formed over there, and bathrooms upstairs and downstairs.” She turns to Star, attitude improving greatly. “Did I tell you about this guy in my English class, he’s so...” and you don’t hear the rest as Star and Ponyhead walk away, but at the last second, Star pivots on her heel and yells at you, “HAVE FUN MARCO! DESTRESS!”

You let out a pained sigh. Destress.  _ Sure _ .

-

It’s been the third time in under ten minutes that someone has bumped into you. Someone spilled their drink on you and vehemently apologized but couldn’t manage to get the stain out, so now a part of your jeans is darker than it should be. The music is grinding on your nerves, so loud that you can’t even hear yourself think. The press of sweaty bodies makes you feel like your breath is restrained and the random stains on the floor make you feel disgusted. The party is  _ not _ fun and doesn’t manage to make you feel any less stressed than before. 

You look for Star, but her form is indistinguishable from the mishmash colors of the crowd, no matter how hard you try, so you decide to look for a bathroom instead. Ponyhead did say they were upstairs, right? 

After a few minutes of searching, you’re finally able to locate the grandiose staircase. As you ascend it, you can feel the noise of the party fade away and a part of you lets out a breath, drooping your shoulders a bit. A bit of peaking around reveals a bathroom, surprisingly simple compare to the rest of the house. You splash some water on your face, the liquid cooling you down. Through the towel you wipe your face with you can see little peeks of the bathroom’s decor. 

Little trinkets are placed in the counter, horses sculpted out of glass, heads leaned back and teeth bared, almost as if they were declaring their majesty to the world. You trace the small indents along the otherwise smooth surface, fingers catching on the lines that make the mane of the horse. You’re lost in your own little world, inspecting this glass horse until a loud screech sounds from downstairs. Your grip tightens on the horse automatically before you place it down gently, not wanting to break it.

The scream sounds again, so you rush out the bathroom, concerned for everyone’s safety. Even though these are not your people, this is not your kingdom, you are a  _ prince _ . It is your responsibility to handle issues as they come and get everything to a stable state. 

When you finally make it to the living room, it’s a complete disaster. Tables have been thrown to the side like old toys, food is smudged all over the place, and people are peeking over displaced couches, phones in hand as they video tape the madness. A group of monsters has surrounded Star, demanding something of her. Her fighting stance never wavers, but her eyes flicker around nervously between them. One of the monsters reaches for her and you can feel your heart plummet to your stomach but Star sidesteps the grabby hand and delivers a clean uppercut to his jaw before kicking him in the crotch. 

The rest of the monsters, angry, advance on her. She looks at the form of the monster hunched over in pain before she jumps on his neck and springs herself upward. You know you won’t have this chance again, so you fish your wand out your pocket and fire off a quick spell, no time to think about what you’re actually saying. It binds a few of the monsters together and the rest look behind them, confused until they notice you. Their faces contort and they rush towards you, giving Star time to land unnoticed. You let out a sigh, relieved before the monsters descend on you. 

You weave throughout the group of monsters, ducking, catching a few punches, and returning the favor with a few spells. There’s not time for much else with the flurry of attacks heading your way. You vaguely hear a screech by a whiny voice, but you’re far too occupied to think about it otherwise. A thump sounds near you and you whirl to catch what happened, but you end up using the momentum to deliver a punch to a monster behind you. It’s honestly very sloppy, but it does the job, so you’re not complaining. 

A warm body presses up against your back and you almost jump up until you catch a few strands of blond hair in your peripheral vision. “I got you,” she manages to grit out, before returning her focus to the battle occuring. With the help Star provides, you’re able to subdue the rest of the monsters only two minutes or so after the barrage began. 

Star lets out a huge sigh, slumping over. “That was even more exhausting than the matches at the gym.” But you’re not really listening, focus on the screeching monster, the only one still standing. 

“That was PATHETIC!” it yells, kicking at one of the downed monster’s forms. “GET UP AND GET THE WAND!” 

When your burning gaze finally registers, it fishes into its pocket and slices through the air with something— _ dimensional scissors _ ! It gets one foot into the portal before and hand scoops it up and lets it dangle. Star holds him tightly to her chest with a vice grip, muttering quietly under her breath.

“You just commanded an attack on the Prince of España and a civilian with the intent of stealing the royal family heirloom,” you say lowly, voice steel. It grins at you, all teeth as if it's proud. That’s a mistake you’ll have to correct. “That is a  _ crime _ with jail time as a punishment _ if I’m feeling remorseful _ .” The monster balks and you bare your teeth at it in return. You circle around, melting back into the vicious persona that you had cultivated when at court. Its eyes follow you, nervous at the sudden shift and something inside you preens.  _ Good _ . A sudden stop in front of it and a slow walk towards it has it shrinking back into Star’s chest. You tap its chin lightly so it’s looking directly into your eyes. “Who are you?” you say, a steel blade wrapped in velvet.

It hesitates for a moment, still deciding on whether or not to speak. When your foot stomps harshly on glossy floors, the sound vibrating around the room. You can see it tremble, eyes frantically darting around, looking for something it won’t find. You can see the moment it understand that it is  _ completely at your mercy _ and that it had the misfortune of  _ ticking you off. _

It whispers something, too quiet for you to hear. “Louder, please,” you hiss, grip tightening on its jaw.

“Prince Ludo,” it whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ludo!   
> angry marco is the funnest thing to write, i love it!  
> i've never really written a fight scene before but i had fun there too! practice, practice practice!  
> i've had the picture sitting on my computer for a month b/c i couldn't write the chapter (one of my notes were: i am firmly a part of the star owns pants and marco owns more than three outfits club)  
> i drew it myself and im very proud of it!   
> hope ur doing well!

**Author's Note:**

> i'm kind of sorry for making Marco suffer but at the same time it's fun to write so...  
> i'm trying out a more aesthetic tm story style for the first time so the writing might be awkward for a while. 
> 
> updates might take a while as honors is dragging my ass and I have no concrete direction for this story, so i'm up for suggestions. there might be more violence later on in this story, just wanted to warn some.
> 
> next chapter: new world, new times or new mornings (both are different ideas for the chapter)
> 
> Fun Fact: I actually had to try to write notes in such a lax way, I have moral dilemmas over not including periods at the end of sentences. Grammar (and procrastination) is within my genes at this point. I'm relaxing into the more lax style however.


End file.
